“He needs to like you,” Leighton says flatly.
“He won’t ever like me,” I say just as flatly, tugging at the knee of my leggings, pinkie finger digging deep. I can feel the fabric giving against the sharp edge of my nail. “You heard him. And I don’t want him to. He’s too… amused. Like this is a gladiator competition and we are all here to serve as his entertainment.”
“Every gladiator wants glory,” Leighton says.
“Not me,” I whisper.
“Don’t you?” Leighton challenges. “From our first conversation, you were clear on what you desire. You want power. You want this life.”
“I don’t want your stupid name,” I insist. “I want Yale. I want what’s mine and that’s it.”
Leighton looks delighted. “What’s yours?” she challenges.
My slip exposes me, making me feel naked. I flex my hands into fists on my knees. “Didn’t you always think of it as yours?” Even though he called you gutter trash.
“I think so. I had always been here. It had always been close enough for me to touch,” Leighton says to herself. She sounds fond of her past this time, like it belongs to someone else. I can’t picture her in polyester and 95 percent cotton. She’s made for silk and wool and the scent of sandalwood and the slight oak taste of wine. “I looked at my competition and thought, You have never fought for anything in your entire life. Not like I have. And then I realized, We all bleed the same. So I made them bleed.”
“Am I supposed to make them bleed?” I ask quietly.
Leighton meets my eyes, dropping her pretense too. “Without question and without prejudice.”
She is everything I am supposed to aspire to be. She’s made something of herself here. She just had to kill to do it. This is what she has been telling me all along. It is louder now, directly from her mouth, the inevitability that I would be required to make myself into something I never wanted to be to achieve the thing I always wanted, and the thought makes my throat close up.
Every one of us is lacking in Leighton’s eyes. That’s what she said in the very beginning. Every one of us had something that needed to be stamped out or polished. This was mine. I had to want it enough, like her. Everything that’s happened, every interaction with her since Margaret died in my arms, has been designed to push me, to make me prove I still do want it. I can picture metal heating up in my hand, feel the kickback of the gun, and that’s what makes me sick, how far my want has already taken me. But at a certain point, it won’t just be self-defense anymore, not like I’ve been telling myself.
“Do you want to make Third bleed?” I ask quietly.
Leighton’s eyes flash. “Every day.”
My breath catches. This woman, cold-blooded and monstrous, sees herself in me, but looking at her now, I don’t see myself in her. Not the person I want to be. No matter what she achieves, she is still not free of this, and even if I won, I never would be either.
I think of Third’s threat and suddenly it’s clear, I don’t need Leighton at all. Her favor means nothing here. I jump to my feet. “I do not have your appetite,” I say firmly.
Leighton laughs. “Don’t you? You are starving. You are greedy. You would gorge yourself on whichever offers you most rather than have scraps of nothing.”
She’s talking about the Remington boys. She knows how they’ve helped me, how I’ve encouraged them to help. She knows that I don’t feel guilty about it. She doesn’t know that it’s so much more complicated than that, that Graham makes me feel safe, that Pierce makes me feel powerful. And I’m not going to explain it to her.
“I’m done with this conversation,” I say, turning away.
“I’m not,” Leighton says. She downs the rest of her wine and sets the delicate glass down with a too-heavy hand. “You are playing a dangerous game and you will lose.”
I shake my head, disgust swollen on my tongue, and stalk toward the door.
“Be very careful not to vex me, Adina,” Leighton warns. “I am not one to be vexed. People get hurt when I am. Your parents. You.”
Fucking rich people.
“Don’t you dare touch my parents,” I hiss.
Leighton smiles at her victory.
“Then tread carefully,” she retorts. “I have been a very good ally to have in this place, Adina. Do not threaten the very small amount of affection I have for you with this… nonsense. Don’t get soft on me now.”
I squash my rage, taking a deep breath, thinking of my parents.
How far I’ll go isn’t my choice anymore. It never really was.
Softly I whisper, “I won’t.”
“Good girl,” Leighton says, her voice molasses-warm again. I stare at the door once more, my fingers tightening around the knob. Leighton’s every step feels like a whisper, and she settles a long hand on my shoulder. I look down and can see her engagement ring, the diamond unnaturally large; she didn’t wear it the first night, but now she does. Like she needs to remind herself, and maybe the rest of us too. “See? You almost put them in danger for no reason. This is why I push you to be sharper. Harder. Unyielding. But also careful. You are not careful. With your parents. With my nephews. With my brother-in-law. With the other girls. You make yourself vulnerable, and I will stamp that out of you so you never will be again.”
CHAPTER 23
THE SECOND REPARTEE SHOULD FEEL like child’s play compared to the Ride, but it doesn’t. Expectations loom larger now. This is all mind games, but it’s just as daunting.
It won’t be card games this time, I know, as we’re led downstairs in that single-file kindergarten line. The Remingtons don’t seem the type for repetition. Maybe it’s Chutes and Ladders, or Sorry!, or a hilariously ironic game of Life.
I’m disappointed to find that it’s nothing of the sort.
“Chess,” Hawthorne says, voicing my distaste.
“Blitz chess,” Pierce corrects cheerfully. He’s more casual for this Repartee, if one could call Vineyard Vines “casual.” He’s wearing boat shoes, unironically. It’s as if he’s stepped off a Cape Cod pier right into the parlor.
Leighton stares down her nose at us. “The Repartees are—as I have said—opportunities to demonstrate the less physical skills necessary to navigate the upcoming challenge within the Finish, and outside of it, in life.”
Pierce steps forward, almost in front of Leighton. She stops short and breathes slowly, as if she meant to pause, but I know she’s been interrupted. Pierce doesn’t seem to notice the subtle shift in her mood as he says, “Chess is a game of strategy above all other things. But blitz chess requires one to make these strategic decisions on a dime, as you will be encouraged to do during the Raid. Come closer, so I can explain the rules.”
Reagan, Jacqueline, and Hannah G scurry forward with abandon, eager to be in Pierce’s line of sight, and Penthesilea looks vaguely curious. Saint and I take our time, casing the room. This is the third parlor I’ve been in, and it looks just as grand and majestic as the last, but it’s getting old. Slowly but surely, the way the light flickers against the gilded walls makes it feel more and more ghoulish.